


see you on the ice

by shepherd



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Ambiguous Dad Regis Lucis Caelum, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, FFXV Mini Bang, Found Family, Growing Up Together, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Origin Story, POV Ignis Scientia, Slow Burn, dad cor leonis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 03:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: Witnessing the devastation that comes after the Marilith attack, a young Ignis longs to hold the Caelum family together no matter what - and picks up the shield in order to protect them all.Alternate Universe - Roleswap, with Shield to the King Ignis and Advisor to the Crown Gladiolus. Originally written for the FFXV mini fic bang.(please see beginning notes for important info and content/trigger warnings)
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	see you on the ice

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: This chapter contains injury and talk of medical procedures, all regarding a young child. Later chapters also contain minor character death and injury/wounds which will be flagged as they appear. There will be some depictions of violence.
> 
> Okay, so.
> 
> This is my attempt at a long fic! I never usually do these! But the FFXV mini fic bang started up and I had a few long fic ideas knocking around in my head, some of which were quite old so I thought I'd have another go at getting my life in order enough. And I wrote a hell of a lot - unfortunately, in fragments, and while bits of later chapters are done, chapter 2 isn't. Nor is the complete final half, as this fic will be in two differing sections. Wahey. So I'm not including it as a fill, but I wanted to make people aware of what this was supposed to be.
> 
> I'm posting because I'd like for this to be my 100th fic and I wanted to get it up before the end of the year. So here you go! Updates will probably be slow because of how I am as a human being, but I'd like to remain one chapter ahead at all times.
> 
> This was supposed to have art for the mini bang, and it doesn't so that's exciting. If anyone would like to do any form of art for it in the long run that would be massively eyeball emoji/eggplant emoji/droplet emoji etc but of course no pressure!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. Hope you enjoy this, even in it's non finished state.

An ugly, ruinous wound arched across the boy’s temple. From his right brow it left a swollen, painful mess of skin before trailing into his hairline, and his hair was matted thick with dried blood. It was infected. Enna knew each of the signs. There was filth and muck over the child’s face and his skin ran hot. The steady rainfall for the past few days that swept across Lucis had done nothing to help – it had merged with the mess, leaving pale streaks down his soft cheeks.

He was crying. Soft hiccups made his chest convulse. Across from him, sitting on a makeshift chair, the older boy toyed with his hands.

“He won’t stop,” Dian said, and he was exhausted. It was written all over the sag of his shoulders and the despair in his voice. “Ever since he got here, he won’t stop.”

Enna glanced at him. “Have you fed him?”

The response didn’t surprise her. “He won’t eat.”

She exhaled through her nose. Drumming her fingers against her table, she ignored the own pulse of her head. Her water canister had gone empty, but her assistant had been waylaid, and in these camps she would be swallowed by the swarm of people if she so much as poked her head out of the tent. Persevering, knowing there were greater problems in the world than a mere headache, she parted the child’s hair carefully and peered at the length and depth of the wound.

Shallow, superficial. But filthy and infected. The child whimpered and writhed, protesting at even the lightest touch. When she drew her hands away, her once clean gloves were smeared with sluggishly seeping blood. “Parents?”

“Oh, they’re with my sister, she—”

“Not yours,” she interrupted, patience worn thin. The vague sense of guilt could come later. “His.”

Dian froze. Then he looked down, fascinated by some fraying fabric on his trousers.

Another orphan on her lap, then. Enna had seen a dozen of them on her doorstep since dawn. All wet eyed and boasting a host of scrapes but this was the worst off by far. And the youngest. Around four, if she could see his face through the filth. He could have been as old as six. But he was scrawny, with long limbs and a frail look to him. “Any name?”

The boy shrugged. Worn shoes scuffed at the plastic floor. “We just call him kid.”

“Right,” Enna sighed, and glanced sparingly toward the flap of the tent. It had been pinned open in case of emergency.

People moved by in droves, the occasional guard sluicing through the thick mud. Astrals only knew where Anui had gotten to. There was too much on their plates – on the entire city’s plate – to fool around amongst the tidal wave of human life. Enna pursed her lips and moved on without her.

She stood. The boy didn’t look up. There was a good set up around her, as close to permanent as they could make it with all the people slowly marching on Insomnia. Another day, another influx of humanity. Even they were not prepared for the waves after a solid week of preparing. They were stocked with food and water, more than enough. Pain medications and bandages were a different story. Rashes of thefts and deaths were all too common, until there was a guard issued to every tent. Supposed to be, anyway – Enna had not seen hers in two days. There were simply not enough bodies to spare.

Across the wall she left her med kit propped up. Dian watched her, now bouncing his legs up and down in his anxiety. “Is he going to be alright?”

She glanced at him a moment. “Physically? Sure.”

All colour drained from Dian’s face at the implications. But she turned away, pulling the kit back over to her patient, settling back down in her seat with a heavy exhale. It wasn’t as comfortable as the one she worked from in the Citadel. It was warmer there, plush at times, and as much as she hated having to deal with the misplaced flirtatious affections of the wounded guards who came her way, she would have taken that in a heartbeat. In the Citadel people rarely died **.** It was flesh wounds largely. Exhaustion, nausea, the occasional superficial surgery. Those wounded in war rarely made it home to her. There were no sobbing children bereft of parents.

When she touched the boy’s arm he flinched away. Her gloved hands were cool and his skin burnt hot. “Calm down,” she said in a low voice, the most soothing she could be, and leant over to twist her number lock and open her cupboard. Enna knew Dian was watching carefully and could only imagine his face when he pulled out her needles, wickedly long and sharp, and set their protective covers on her lap.

This would hurt like hell. Scalp wounds were common, less so for children. Even clearing up the mess of blood would send the child into a shrieking hysteria, worsening the pulse of pain he already suffered. If she dared try to clean him alone he would fight her every second, kicking and wailing. No doubt he would do the same when she tried to administer his anaesthetic. Enna wished she still carried her anaesthetic creams and patches for ease alone. They had run out long ago.

“Come on,” she murmured again, waiting for the boy to soothe. “Come on, it’s not so bad.” She flattened her hands against the table, taking in the hunch of the child’s spine. He was messy all over – the bottoms of his jeans were caked in dried mud, tears in his colourful shirt. It seemed he had lost his shoes long ago. Every part of him was small, his hands and his ears, and Enna knew he would have been lost easily in the bustling crowd.

Maybe his parents were dead. Maybe they had just lost him in the panic of the rising tide. Either way, Dian’s silence was not reassuring.

Pressing her luck, she touched the terse line of his spine carefully. His shirt was thin. After this, if Anui ever returned, she would send her over to the donation drive to see if there were any jumpers and shoes. Maybe, if the kid had a turn of luck, Anui would be sweet enough on him to buy clothes out of her own wages. She had always been the sappy sort.

The cold was still too much for him. He cried harder and writhed, damn close to slipping off the table and she cocooned him in her arms to pull him back. Sobbing, he protested, choking on his own breaths and Dian got to his feet with hands still fretting. Long legs strode across the tent with the closest thing to certainty Enna had seen all week. He offered the child his hands, cooing softly, “Hey, kiddo.”

It wasn’t perfect. The child cried still with his chest convulsing with the force of it but he no longer tried to escape. Tiny hands clung to Dian’s. The boy squirmed closer. Dian forced a smile, expression strained, but finally the child was as close to still as they could manage.

Enna breathed out slow. “Thank you.”

A hand stroked through the cleaner parts of the kid’s hair. “It’s alright, kiddo,” he murmured, squeezing the hand he held. “Don’t worry. It’s okay.”

“Keep doing that,” Enna said, slipping into her focus. The kid needed cleaning up, given treatment for his infection and the wound had to be closed. Surgical staples would knit the cut and then the kid could be bustled over to whoever could deal with him properly. It was an hour work at most. If Enna was lucky – she didn’t think so - Anui would return and she could get the pale, sweating Dian out of her hair for a bit. “Give me a sec.”

Dian swallowed hard, adverting his gaze to the plastic ceiling as Enna pulled out a needle with a flourish.

x

Blowing out her cheeks, loose hair finally out of her eyes, Anui ducked and dived through the milling crowd. All the while she cradled the child close, hand cupping the back of his head and murmuring restless reassurances.

“It’s alright,” she said whenever he fussed. Bare feet pressed at her belly. He had nuzzled his hurting head into her shoulders. Her arms protected him from the very worst of the cold. “Almost there.”

The donation drive was halfway across the camp. The crowds were thick and moving slow. All the king’s men did their best to keep the crowd moving but there was nothing they could do when it came to the walking wounded. Families wandered blindly looking for their lost loved ones. Those who could no longer stagger by on aching limbs found makeshift seats on the filthy floor, long since uncaring. Anui stepped past them all, aching with every child’s cry and parent’s plea for mercy. But she had her duty.

The little boy was lighter than she thought he would be. Quieter, too. He had not been so silent when Dian’s mother pressed him into her arms, half mad with desperation in her inability to comfort him. It was hard to believe that the blood was all his. Anui knew well that head wounds bled uncontrollably. Even as a child, long before her days as a student nurse her year three teacher had told her so, pulling her along to the nurses’ office while she clutched her throbbing head. Luckily there was no wound – just the pulsing of her brain against her skull. But her teacher scolded her nonetheless. _If you had fallen, what would you have done then? Sat there and bled, and what a foolish child you would have looked._

Still even after all her years it was hard to believe the extent of it – it hardly seemed right, the gush of blood from such a shallow wound and it had taken a long time to scrub the dried blood from underneath her nails. She had been soaked through with the mud and muck over the past weeks and Anui knew that tonight, like every other night she would not sleep well.

She kept smiling. These people needed medical treatment, food, clothing, but they needed comfort.

“I have you,” she promised, and rounding the corner she hurried past the last stragglers to shoulder her way somewhat unkindly towards the donation drive. Guards stood at the entrance, glowering out at any cause of suspicion, but they let her past. The gaze of one lingered but Anui focused on her duty.

A very small line, not like the one the day before wrapped around the tent. But children had priority – less came for the younger ones, and in such a cold season they were more vulnerable than most. The Long Night brought forth a bitter chill even within Insomnia’s borders.

That guard she knew well parted the entrance for her. Mera offered her a tight smile and Anui bowed her head. “Thanks,” she said with the longing to say more, and bustled into the warmth.

It stank of warm plastic. Space heaters had been placed in each corner and it reeked of hot dust. Anui sighed at the change of temperate, beginning to breath through her mouth and smoothing a hand along the little boy’s arm. He hiccupped against her. He made no move to unfold his drawn close limbs.

Half a dozen eyes turned to her. The tent was only small, barely fitting a dozen people, and tables were piled high with necessities. Some bore clothes and others had baby bottles, toiletries, small forms of entertainment such as worn paperback books- anything that the good people of Insomnia could offer. It wasn’t much. But it was something, and across the room an officer stepped forward, arms filled with fabrics.

Monica’s eyes flit between Anui and her patient. “Clothes?”

“Please,” she said. “He needs a jumper and some shoes. If possible.”

Looking over at one of her fellows, Monica jerked her head towards one of the tables. It was laden down with bright colours, boxes stacked underneath, and it was a makeshift operation all the way through. The assistant scurried along with a quick gesture for Anui to follow.

“Thank you, officer,” Anui said with a parting bow of her head, and Monica merely nodded at her.

Hurried hands already delved into the fabrics, tired eyes peering at the child. They sussed up his size silently. Anui wondered if the assistant had slept at all since the tide began. “We just got a new delivery in. Fair bit of kid’s stuff for once. How old is he?”

“Probably about four.” She shifted the boy in her arms, growing sore. At least he was no longer bawling. It was still hard to tell his age once he had been cleaned up. With any luck, they would know more when he began to speak, but he had not spoken a single word. All his cries were wordless and heart wrenching. “Just need to keep him warm.”

The man’s lips twisted. “Not sure about shoes, but we have a few socks. I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, and risked a quick peek at her patient.

The wound was an ugly thing. His skin was pink and puckered and it hurt to even look at. It was indeed shallow but longer than they thought, leading up through his scalp, and Enna had been forced to clip his hair in order to close the wound. Anui had shaved the rest, and the child whimpered at the whirring of the razor. He had cried until Anui had kissed his forehead softly.

He needed a name. It was agonizing to think that so much had been taken from him that even his name was lost. A child could only be known as _kid_ for so long.

“We’ll get you warmed up, love,” Anui promised, and tiny little hands clutched at the sleeve of her scrubs.

The man was digging ever deeper. Occasionally he pulled up bundles of wool and cotton, pushing it to one side. “Got some jumpers here,” he said vaguely. While Anui set the boy down on a free table she peeked at the man’s name tag – _Selasi,_ it read, in thick black handwritten print.

One jumper was bright yellow. It looked a touch too big for a child with such a slender frame, but she could not be picky. She encouraged the boy sit up straighter, wrangling it over his head as carefully as she could, and when she straightened the collar he protested, squirming. The boy was lost within the mess of wool, and Anui couldn’t help but laugh at him. She missed his long, honey hair, and smoothed her hand over his bristled scalp.

She pulled it off him again. His arms were tangled a moment. Folding the jumper quickly she set it upon his lap, and his little hands tangled in the softness.

“Here you go,” Selasi murmured and Anui got the boy into a hoodie. It was soft and black and he made no protest. She swapped it for another jumper, one which itched even her hands and when the boy moaned in complaint, she took mercy. Putting it back on the pile, she dug herself, finding a mismatched pair of socks. They bore the same pattern, in different colours.

In the end of it all Ignis had two jumpers and one hoodie, a spare pair of elastic waisted jeans and two pairs of socks. A soft blanket had been donated, though it was fraying in the corners. Anui would not be picky. No shoes, but Anui found herself enjoying carrying him around - as long as he didn’t fret.

Parting with her thanks, she murmured a farewell to Monica, and she could feel those eyes on her back until she slipped from the tent. It was a gnawing feeling, but Mera was at her side in a heartbeat, and with a careful look around her she pressed something into Anui’s hands.

“For the kid,” she said quickly, and Anui tucked it away into her pocket without sparing a moment to look at it. “A breakfast bar from the mess.”

Her heart lightened. “Thank you,” she said, and wasn’t surprised when Mera leaned in to give her a quick, chaste kiss. It filled her up with a warmth she had missed sorely. “How is everything going?”

When Mera exhaled her shoulders slumped hard. “The less said about it, the better,” she sighed, and instead looked to the child in Anui’s arms. “A patient?”

“Yeah, just came to get him wrapped up.” She bounced him a little in her arms. Her baby cousins loved that, cooing and gurgling, hands always exploring. This one said nothing. “I think he’s shy,” she said, praying that was the case.

“He’s a sweet little thing,” Mera murmured and her eyes lingered on the wound. “Going back to his parents?”

Anui gave a heavy breath through her nose and it was all she needed to do. Mera grunted and ran a hand through her flat and greasy hair. “Fuck,” she whispered, and her expression was tight. “Should have stolen another bar.”

“No, no. It was sweet of you.” Her thumb swept along the boy’s forearm. She wanted another kiss, but it would wait. With any luck they would be sent on their break together and they could find a patch of ground to curl up together and rest undisturbed for the hour. All Anui needed was a moment of shut eye and her girlfriend’s warmth. “With a little luck, the family who brought him here will take him in. The son went back to see his mom – would be great if they took him in. ‘Cause he trusts them, I think. The son can calm him down a bit.”

“That’s good,” Mera said softly. Her own hand reached to join Anui’s, warm leather against the boy’s elbow. They stroked soothing patterns into his skin. Now he ran at a more reasonable temperature. Anui had swapped out his shirt and wrapped him in the blanket loosely, saving him from overheating. “Hello, angel.”

Laughing, Anui shifted the boy higher up her hip. She folded the edges of the blanket away from his rounded face and Mera withheld her wince upon seeing the injury better. They had seen worse. Much worse, a thousand times, but it was easy to forget all about it when they were faced with a wounded child.

Anui touched his cheek lightly. “Hi,” she said, and the child looked up at her.

Pale green eyes were framed with heavy lashes. They were filled with caution and still were beautiful. Every glimpse before had seen them bloodshot, teary. Against his skin he was warm and so soft than Anui could hardly believe it. Her breath caught in her throat still.

Nearly every feature was delicate – his mouth was soft, cheeks rounded, brows fine. But his nose was prominent and bold. She wondered if it was a gift from his mother or his father.

Anui smiled widely and swept her thumb over his chin. “Hello love,” she greeted, and a spark of recognition lit his dark eyes.

X

Dian never came back.

Long days passed and unfamiliar faces passed through Enna’s makeshift surgery, all dour and tired. They carried their own children and stroked their hair, kissed their temples as minor or major wounds were treated. With each step through their tent Anui’s breath caught, hope peaking, only to always be dashed. She found herself peering at every mother, every father, looking for anything they might have in common with the boy.

He was sat quiet in the corner. Anui joined him whenever she had a spare moment and he clung to her like she was all he had ever known. His hands grew more confident by the day. He no longer cried, barely protested when Enna no longer gave him his medicine with something sweet to counteract the bitter taste and rather remained silent.

She worried he was bored. Mera had brought him whatever she could pilfer, reserving the very best for the little one who had nothing, and she had scrubbed up a teddy bear to make him perfect. She came all the way down from her post by the Wall, a miserable job trying to keep back the desperate from their new hopeful life and she found a little bit of happiness in his sweet face. “Hello,” she greeted, every morning, and the little boy looked up at her. Still he said nothing, and still he did not smile.

Anui looked within the crowd for any sign of the family who left him. A hundred duties kept her busy. Tasks for Enna, searching for a runaway patient, running for news or water. A hundred more came to her whenever she walked outside, people taking her aside and giving her orders. Even the Captain Leonis himself pulled her out of the crowd and asked her plainly where another doctor could be found, and Anui could do nothing but splutter under his terrifying gaze.

There were dozens of faces and few of them familiar. Dian was gone, and she bit back on her anger until her breaks. Then she bloodied her knuckles with a punch to the wall and cried until she had to tie back her hair and do her duty all over again.

All the while the boy sat in the corner and played. Sometimes he slept, pulling his blanket over his head and shutting away the world, and Anui would sacrifice her jacket to pillow his vulnerable head. Hours would be lost to him that way, his dreams uneasy and his cries terrible, and Anui would spare the time she could to kneel with him, brush over his rough hair and hum until he stilled.

Enna watched her, silent for the first few days. But she was never silent for long.

Her voice came almost a full week after Dian’s family disappeared.

Ducking her head to get into the tent, Anui pulled back the hood of her jacket. It had gotten much colder, close to all of a sudden. There was a terrible bite to the air that spread, no longer contained to the early morning. A space heater now rest within the tent and it was a blessing. She shucked off her jacket, then peeled her gloves, and sighed with relief.

At her table, Enna looked up. Her eyes as always were narrowed. “Well?”

“Nothing, again,” she said, and the disappointment still stung. “No sign. Must have been moved up into the city.” She shrugged but thought, _bastards,_ even when the pity remained. The warmth of the tent kissed her cheeks not unlike the touch of frostbite. They burnt painfully and she rubbed some feeling back into them. “Selasi’s on his break so he took the kid to the mess to see if he eats again. Seems like he’s not interested in bigger meals, so they’re gonna split some.”

Whenever Enna had something to say, you usually heard it about. Sometimes you saw it coming and Anui knew the signs. Under her skin her jaw tensed hard. Enna had a problem of grinding her teeth, wearing a mouth guard each night and she carried mountains of stress. Now more than ever, but Anui found it hard to be sympathetic.

All in all, she was a good doctor. A great doctor even, one who could be kind but shrewdly practical, but she had no sense of subtly.

“He can’t stay,” Enna told her, as plain as the midday sky, and Anui scowled. Her rare lightened mood was quashed, and her temper flared up to meet its competition.

“I know,” she said and nothing more.

“He’s just getting in our way,” she continued, tapping her pen against the plastic desk. It was a garden table carried in on the second day. The place was no longer as cramped with useless boxes cleared out, but Enna still perched on several old boxed med kits piled up as a makeshift chair. There were other more important things to fuss over. They had been out of bandages for two days and had been turning away patients over it. “He’s just getting in our way. It’s not right to keep him here, or appropriate.”

“I know,” Anui repeated, fiercely, and Enna turned up her nose with her lips tight.

Their last patient had gone to be wrapped up. They would be back for their anti-bacterials next. It would be good to have the child free from the daily stresses of more strangers, but she still missed him sorely. It was pleasant to have him around. Even if he served than nothing more as a distraction from the horror around him Anui could take a small amount of comfort in that.

Until their patient returned there was nothing urgent. When times were slow – and they never were, not for long – Anui went to support the donation tent or stole a quick nap. Now she was too amped up. Frustration had her sour.

And Enna had never been good at reading the mood.

Anui settled herself into a stock take. They were surprisingly well supplied. It wouldn’t hurt to do another count and clear her mind, but Enna said, “So what are you going to do with him?”

She gave her boss a sullen look. Her usually mellow temper was scratching at the surface. “I’ll think about it.”

“You have the free time. Let’s talk about it now.”

“Fucking Astrals-” she said with venom; patience stretched tight enough that it threatened to snap. “Fine, alright,” she slammed the case door closed again. Metal against metal was an awfully harsh sound. “What do you want from me?”

“An answer,” Enna said stiffly. “Some realism, if I can dare hope for it.”

 _Fuck off_ , she wanted to hiss, but she choked it down. Realism was just like her, filled with bitterness. Enna seemed entirely unwilling to carve room for hope out of despair. “If you have to kick him out when he needs someone the most, we can pick one of the guards,” she said, the very first thing that came to her mind. Mera was with her each night, and always. It was the brightest light in Anui’s life. She was just as sweet on the child, and maybe – in another world –

Enna scoffed. “With their busy lives? Their abysmal pay? Do you really think they could care for a child with his needs?”

Anui grit her teeth. It hurt but she barely felt it. “I’m trying to be positive.”

“Positive,” she murmured, with a mocking sugary lilt and a wry smile. “I’m being practical. Listen, it doesn’t matter where he goes. But he can’t stay here. You need to pass him over to someone and get back to your real job full time. Not fucking babysitting.”

“You can’t just--”

“Keep him in a refugee camp? Feeding him with half your lunch?” Incensed, Enna smacked her hand down on the table. “Do you truly think you’re doing him a favour? Just take him to the real adults, girl, and stop doing more damage than he needs.”

Anui spluttered. So much frustration and guilt bundled up into one mess, trapped on her tongue. She was close to boiling over, storming out, but the pain of guilt was emerging victorious. In a way she hated about herself she knew Enna was right. A medical tent was no place for a little boy, especially Enna’s tent of all people. Such a sweet child deserved a kinder fate, to be found a family of his own in the cold of this season.

When no response came, Enna grunted and picked her pen back up. She leant over her stack of papers, a situational report for the Captain. It was the list of both the dead and those they had successfully treated. “I don’t want to see the kid in this tent again,” she commanded, and Anui deflated.

An awful silence descended. People swept past outside, shouting and grumbling. Anui breathed and the place stank of chemicals and hot plastic. It was enough to make her sick.

He couldn’t come back. Not here, no matter how she fought.

“I’ll take him in the morning,” she agreed, the pain churning her stomach and piercing her chest, and Enna’s displeasure was evident at having the child for another night.

“Good,” she said despite it all, not with pity but with the cold satisfaction of a woman who always got her way in the end, and Anui stewed in silence.

Not even the weight of the child in her arms consoled her that night, as she bundled him up in a cot and kissed his temple.

X

He looked better. Not by much – not enough to remove the staples just yet, nor to expose him to the other children of the camp who most of all enjoyed roughhousing, but his skin had gained some colour. Mera smiled down at him as best she could, even as her throat was tight.

“Hey there,” she said lightly, and he looked at her a moment. Those eyes were brightening, and it was encouraging to see. When she reached out for him he responded in kind, grasping her hand firmly and she cooed. Such strength. He was a fighter in the face of it all. “Good job. I have something for you, kiddo.”

He shuffled in Anui’s arms in response, leaning forward eagerly and with a flourish she produced a tiny chocolate bar. Fun sized, or so they were called. She didn’t see much fun in a bar barely a few inches long. “You want it?”

Green eyes locked on it. He reached for it with his fingers flexing and she laughed, tearing open the packet for him. “Good boy,” she said and passed it over before it could melt in her hand.

For a moment he paused as if not sure what to do with it. He looked between her, and then Anui, who have him a tired smile. “Go ahead,” she said, and still he hesitated.

“Maybe he’s embarrassed about being watched,” Caspar offered, frowning to himself and Anui shrugged.

“Don’t look at him. Maybe then.” She looked towards Caspar, eyes determinedly not on the infant. “Where will you take him?”

“Captain’s ordered all kids to get into the city,” he shrugged, and his too long hair flopped into his face. He needed it cut badly but was the type to never have the time. “All families with kids, as soon as they get treatment, have priority getting past the Wall. Think the king said so, anyway.”

“What’ll they do with him there?”

Caspar laughed, a touch hollow. “Dunno. I’m just a lowly outer guard. We don’t get told these things; you know that.” But at the sight of Mera’s sagging expression, he quickly course corrected. “I mean, they’ll be set up. ID’s, food, everything they need. There’s nothing to worry about. Tyke’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Anui asked, insistent. “They won’t just put him in the system?”

Tilting his head, Caspar studied her closely. “Well, if he doesn’t go in the system, he won’t get adopted.”

“You know it doesn’t always work out like that,” she said, and in the corner of her eyes she saw the kid move for the bar. Mera seemingly had her eyes locked on Caspar, but when he took a very small bite, they all couldn’t help their smiles. “You know they’re all just numbers after that.”

“Look at him,” Caspar said dryly, and none of them did. In the corner of their eyes the child took another bite and the chocolate had begun to melt against his fingers. “He’s a cutie. They’ll snap him up right away.”

A part of them was sure of it. Another wasn’t so certain, and it was the part they couldn’t ignore. “But -”

“He’ll be fine,” Caspar stressed, and Anui could only pray. “Listen, I have to go.”

Reluctance possessed her. She and Mera exchanged a look, utterly silent and yet full of meaning, yearning, and the child sucked his sticky fingers clean. There wasn’t a single selfish part of either of them that wanted to let him go.

But they had to, and it was what had kept them up until late in the night, listening to the boy snuffle in his sleep.

Mera sucked her teeth. “Can I,” she asked in a small voice, and Anui was helpless to obey. She handed the child over and his warmth left her quickly. He had gotten lighter over time. He only picked at the meals they gave him and Mera looked faintly surprised at how effortlessly she carried him. She bunched him high on her hip, letting him settle comfortably, and she smiled at him.

The wound had done well. The flesh would scar, would remain with him until the end of his days, but he was gorgeous. He looked at her, fearless, all too comfortable in her arms and giving him away would kill her. It would kill them both. There could be no pretence of _what if’s, maybe when’s_. There was only the tragedy of loss, of being in the wrong place in the wrong time.

“You’re lovely,” she told him, and her voice began to crack. “You’re lovely, our sweet little thing.”

They had chosen a quiet spot to say goodbye. Few passed them and even fewer spared them a glance. Standing awkwardly amongst them, Caspar cleared his throat softly. He crossed his hands over one another and waited.

“Please make sure he’s safe,” Anui spoke softly, unwilling to break the moment that connected them all and he nodded.

“What’s his name?”

“He doesn’t have one that we know about,” Anui said, watching with equal parts joy and despondence as Mera cuddled the boy close, pressing one last kiss against his cheek. The boy preened at the touch. “We’ve just been calling him kid. Or sweet thing, mostly.”

Caspar’s brow furrowed. “What, for more than a week? You can’t do that.”

Mera shot him a look like it was obvious. “We can’t just name him.”

“Why not?” He asked, and the simplicity of it snapped them into silence. They stared at him long enough to make him shift from foot to foot, uncomfortable. “I mean, someone’s gonna eventually. Might as well be you.”

Mera pulled a strange face. She recoiled at the thought, filled with a vague distaste. “I don’t think that’s-”

“What about someone from that book you like,” Anui interrupted, own expression odd, and Mera started. She frowned at her even as the child contentedly rest his head on her shoulder.

“Book?”

“The one about that king, of that place,” Anui said with a vague wave of her hand. She had never been one for fiction, too wrapped up in her textbooks and the blinding action movies that distracted her from her studies. But Mera loved them. Back when they shared their first apartment together books had been used as doorstops, and the old ones that she didn’t enjoy propped up their bed. “The one that’s all illusive and thinks everyone’s out to get him. He’s on a hill or something.”

“Hope you’re not naming him after the king,” Caspar muttered, but Mera hushed him.

“ _The King in The High Castle?”_ She asked, flattening a hand against the boy’s back. She rubbed along his shoulders thoughtlessly. He wrapped an arm around her, hands still gross and wet.

“Yeah, yeah, that one.”

“Well…” Mera shrugged as carefully as she could, unwilling to disturb him. “I’m not sure. Some of the names are a bit out there. Old school.”

“Whatever you like,” Auni said gently, and Mera looked away. “I know it feels weird, but he does need a name.”

A shout rung out from across the way. People hurried past, guards of Mera’s own rank, and a crying father followed hot on their heels. She didn’t look around. Instead she watched the child fawn to himself, gripping at the exciting bits of her uniform. He seemed fascinated with her identification pins.

Finally, she cleared her throat. “Well, there’s Anders. Or Hesseth,” She said, running through every character she could recall, the heroes and the lovers, fathers and sons. “Kelsier, Ignis, Mithunan. One of those?”

When Auni frowned, crease lines crossed her forehead. She crossed her arms against her chest knowing otherwise she would ask for the child back and never let go of him. “Mith is cute. Iggy is nice, but the others don’t really make good nicknames.”

“I have a distant cousin we call Mith,” Caspar said, in a conversational tone. “He’s an asshole.”

Mera laughed, albeit weakly, and Auni rolled her eyes. “So is that a vote for Ignis?”

“It’s as good a name as any,” he said, and all eyes went to the child.

“Ignis,” Caspar announced, and it wasn’t the fanfare they were half expecting. The world spun on, all its delights and triumphs, and all its loss and despair. Ignis rubbed at his nose and sniffed hard, staring out over Mera’s shoulder. “Hello, Ignis.”

Mera stroked over his head and kissed his temple and then his cheek. Ignis half closed his eyes at the sensation and murmured aimlessly. “Such a good boy, Iggy.”

As someone walked by, they laughed and joked. Guards carried large bags of donations and children rushed by drawing Ignis’ half lidded gaze. Everyone was wrapped up warmly. Caspar drew his scarf closer and dragged his hands over the dark fabric.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, quietly. “I think it’s time.”

They breathed together silently. An overcast sky threatened a downpour. It was only the morning yet, the city barely awake, and each of them stood shivering. Mera pulled Ignis a touch closer and rest her cheek on his head. She closed her eyes.

Anui moved first. She touched Mera’s elbow, Ignis’ back. “Bye, Iggy,” she said, voice threatening to shatter, and when he sat up to face her, she tweaked his nose carefully. “Be a very good boy, okay?”

His face wrinkled up at the touch, nose creasing, and tired eyes peered at her. Little hands rubbed hard at his face as if to chase away the feeling - but then he smiled. Small, lopsided, and perfect.

Her face crumpled. The tears came soon after, and she smiled throughout, taking his soft hands and squeezing carefully. “Yeah? You’re gonna be a good boy?”

His smile widened. He leant out of Mera’s arms as if asking to be held by Anui once more, and on instinct she reached for him. But Mera stepped forward, offering him to Caspar ungracefully in her hurry, and Caspar struggled to adapt to Ignis’ weight, surprised. “You have to take him,” she said, even as her own expression grew strained. “He needs to go.”

Ignis grunted unhappily, attempting to twist to get to Anui, and Caspar held him firmly. No matter how the boy struggled he couldn’t break free. Caspar’s reluctance drew his shoulders tight. Anui’s hands had frozen, halfway to the little boy.

“Sorry,” he said and the guilt was written from the tense line of his mouth to the crow’s feet around his eyes. “I’ll tell you when he’s home,” he promised, and when he finally found the strength to walk away Ignis still attempted to squirm over his shoulder.

Confused and wanting eyes gazed back at Mera and Anui all the while – until they were gone.

x

When Caspar parted Ignis’ little strands of hair, the new scar was shiny and pink. It went inches through his hairline and ended about midway, disrupting the parting of his stubbled hair. The boy was perched on his lap happily chewing on some biscuits and Caspar clicked his tongue.

“He didn’t cry?” He asked and helped himself to one of the ginger snaps on the table. The sharp taste spread across his tongue.

“A little,” the doctor said, and he remained harried. The flask in his hand steamed. “I mean, I took out staples.”

He blew out some air and finally his hair was no longer in his eyes. Gods, he needed a cut. “You’re a good boy,” he said and it had become a mantra. It came naturally when a young child was somehow this well behaved.

Ignis didn’t complain when anyone touched his scar. Not a peep, only stirring if someone pressed too hard. It was long and bumpy, tender and bold on his forehead and it was where some of the Crownsguard liked to kiss most.

“Oh, gods,” Pontis said, hands on his knees and he hunched over to get a better look. “He’s so cute. He’s just so cute.”

Across the room, tucking into her lunch, Inais narrowed her eyes. “Yes, you’ve said before.”

“But he is,” Pontis stressed, and Caspar had to nudge away his hand before he pinched Ignis’ cheek disturbing him from his snack. The doctor began to pack up his things, smile wry. “Look. I can’t believe that none of us have been swayed into taking you home yet. Look at this sweetie.”

“Leave him be,” Caspar told him, and drew his arms tighter around Ignis. “I gotta take him away soon, and no use in you being attached. Plus you’ve been given your patrol.”

“I can always spare a few minutes for Iggy,” Pontis said, pointedly ignoring the truth and the entire company rolled their eyes. They were sprawled around in their makeshift mess hall, ignoring the chairs and tables provided to form a closing ring around Caspar. They spread their legs across the tarp and rest their weary bones. “Can’t I, Igs?”

He finished with his biscuit. Crumbs were all over his shirt. “T’ank you,” He said, and most of the company melted.

Ignis had been far more popular around the guard than Caspar had thought. For the first few hours of Ignis’ new life he crept around avoiding his superiors like the plague. Ducking behind tents and hushing Ignis when he moaned, reaching out to try and catch a Galahdian dreamcatcher in his hands. A feather plucked from the ground entertained him for only a moment. Having a kid was hard, and Caspar had only been entrusted with him for the better part of a morning.

It wasn’t long until he was found. The Captain made his way through the thoroughfare, looking mighty displeased with something, someone and Caspar fled before he could be seen. He was avoiding his post – patrolling, an ample opportunity to take in the misery beyond their Wall – and carrying an unidentified child. All the hallmarks of being punished with double duty, and it was Pontis who nearly led to him doom.

 _And who is this,_ he had called, delighted at a peek of a sweet little thing, and Caspar had been bustled into the mess before the Captain looked around.

Higher ups never came here. Crownsguard never had a reason to and the guards considered it their haven. They could bitch and whine until the sun came back up, and many times they had. Having Ignis there was a mark of curiosity and as the word spread – carefully, as to not rouse the wrath of the Captain – many began to stick their heads in, curious, and stayed just to watch Ignis slumber.

Caspar had left Ignis for his shift for a few hours, slipping back when he could. It seemed he had nothing to fear. For a child with such a rough beginning he was affectionate, happy to lounge in the arms of any. Giovan had sat cross legged for hours too afraid to move and wake him. Ignis melted into every guard, loose limbed and content, and it hadn’t taken him long to find his voice.

It was very small. It was raw, cracked for disuse, but he spoke all the same.

 _He’ll be alright,_ the doctor had promised. _Just give him a bit of time, and lots of attention. He’ll be out of that shell of his before you know it._

A familiar hand snuck out. With Ignis finished with his biscuit Caspar allowed it, and Pontis beamed as he finally poked Ignis’ prominent nose. “Hello,” he cooed, and Ignis wiggled in pleasure, kicking out his scuffed but new little sneakers.

“Go do your damn jobs,” he scolded with no heat, and didn’t protest when he was soundly ignored.

People came and went as the hours past. Pontis stayed once he could persuade Giovan to cover his shift. Inais finished her rounds and came back for a cup of soup, clutching a sweet for their guest though she insisted it meant nothing. Ignis napped again, clutching his teddy and protesting softly when hands tickled his belly. Caspar stole a moment himself, sprawled against the floor with Ignis on his chest, and when he woke the light had changed. Half the guards had disappeared, and the shadows had shifted.

It wasn’t easy here. There was little time to rest and hard to fall asleep upon the plastic – but Ignis made it easier, a little cub with a warm belly cuddled close. Still he remained asleep, and Caspar allowed himself a few short minutes to watch his chest rise and fall.

As he finally blearily rubbed his eyes, sitting up, the tent flap shifted. Plastic struck plastic, the sounds of the world outside leaking in, and Caspar didn’t think to look up.

“Soldiers,” Cor Leonis said, cool but with that familiar edge of _you’re fucked_ , and Caspar went cold. It washed from his fingertips to his scalp and the dread could have killed him right there. He couldn’t find it in himself to move.

The tent fell silent. It was not something that happened often, rowdy as they could be. It was a death knell. Even Inais blanched, her face almost as pale as her hair. A long shadow cast into the tent, and then it split into two. One frame was undeniably Cor’s – heavyset, strong. The other was shorter, slender but just as powerful. Caspar steeled himself before he looked aside and found Monica gazing at him, brows raised.

No one spoke. Only Ignis shifted as he stirred, his weight awkward against Caspar’s stomach. “Hello,” he said dreamily to no one in particular.

Cor crossed his arms against his chest. His biceps stood out against his form fitting uniform and Caspar’s mouth went dry for at least two reasons. “An explanation,” he said, “and now.”

x

There was a small packet of sweets up on the table, far beyond Ignis’ reach and he knew very well he couldn’t get to them alone. He also knew for sure they were there. He had heard them rustling when the lady had eaten one herself.

Staring hadn’t helped him. Ignis had hoped she might see and give him the whole pack if he were lucky. Food had been a long time coming and the gnawing in his belly grew uncomfortable. He shifted, unhappy left sitting on the carpet, and watched the lady write.

She sat silently. Even her breathing was inaudible. Her legs were crossed, pen working in a flourish. A curtain of short brown hair disguised her face, just like his mother’s, and he knew he hadn’t seen her in a while. Maybe this new lady knew where she was. The absence was and had been a nagging feeling - but the lady’s boots were gross and muddy, his head hurt, and Ignis forgot all about it when she ate another sweet. Her room was boring, and the drive up to it even more so – there was nothing to do but watch.

Huffing, Ignis sat up on his rump and complained very softly.

Pausing, she glanced over. Reading glasses sunk low on her nose. “Hello,” she said.

Ignis looked back to where he knew the packet was. Making sure his gaze lingered, he peeked back at her. Though he hoped for kindness the desperation was agitating, itching at him. Boredom was a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to. There were always people. Always happy faces, kind hands. A moment of silence was enough to make him want to scream until they paid attention to him.

He hardened his gaze and looked between it and her. Finally the woman looked over with a frown. It took her a moment of furrowed brows before she realised and laughed very softly. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she smiled at him. “You want candy, huh?”

Ignis wriggled. Hope bubbled up inside him, an unbearable feeling that he had to convey through movement, and he cooed when she gave in. Reaching over she took a small handful of gummies. At least one of each colour was given to him, green teddy bears and red hearts and white eggs, and he swallowed the heart right away. “T’ank you,” he said dutifully. It was what his father had taught him.

“You’re welcome,” she murmured, and turned back away.

It was disappointing. In this unfamiliar place there was nothing to do. It wasn’t even noisy, the way he had come to like best. A play pen lay to one side along with colourful plastic covered with numbers and letters, but it had grown boring quickly. Ignis had only his own teddy bear left, and he clutched it close.

He pulled at the sleeves of his shirt, missing his blanket sorely, along with the affectionate arms that would wrap around him. The woman did not notice and after signing her name with a flourish she simply shuffled through the rest of her papers. Ignis whined again, louder, eager for her attentions.

She glanced at him again. Her eyes were a cool, unfamiliar grey. She stared down at him calmly. “Yes?”

It wasn’t a response he was prepared for. Uncertain, he lifted his arms and waited to be picked up.

Nothing happened. She drummed her pen against the surface of her desk and simply stared.

Usually people flocked to him. Happy people smiled at him, gave him drinks and chocolates that sweetened his tongue. She only stared, and so lost in the unfamiliarity of it all Ignis began to cry.

“Oh,” she said with a surprised expression, and Ignis convulsed with the build up of upset, face flushing pink as he moaned for attention. He reached out further only to find nothingness. That only made his empty feeling worse. His moans became wails, long and blistering and they scratched his throat.

There was an uncomfortable feeling in his head Ignis had known before. He hadn’t the time to grow accustomed to it. It wasn’t warm and wet like it used to be, but it hurt still, dull like when he was being pulled along and then he tumbled down to the riverbank and something had hit him. Or he had hit it. Or it was thrown, or lay still, and Ignis hadn’t been sure. The hazy memory confused him and it made him cry all the louder.

Ignis’ eyes filled with tears. They spilt quickly down his cheeks and dripped down his chin. It wasn’t long before a shape formed in the corner of his eye, lost in the haze of misery. “Monica?”

“He just started for no reason,” the woman said, disturbed and but not frantic.

“Hold on,” the man grunted, and thumping boots grew closer.

“Is he,” another man asked, and Ignis became aware of a shadow at his side. It sunk down to his level and he recoiled, choking on his breaths.

“Hey,” it said, and a hand touched his wrist. “Hey, hey. C’mon.”

Ignis sniffed. He rubbed at his eyes and curled his legs closer, wishing he could be warm again. There was a woman who smelt like flowers, though sometimes she smelt like sweat, and he missed her. Crying for her he reached a new pitch, blubbering as the stranger touched his shoulder instead, and another shadow followed.

This one was bold. It sunk down and wrapped long arms around him, drawing Ignis close. The arms were careful but sure, refusing to let Ignis fight against them, and a new voice murmured.

“It’s alright,” the voice said. His hands were cool and steady. Ignis moaned and writhed in the cocoon but could find no escape. “Don’t fret. We’re not here to harm you.”

Ignis wanted the woman back. A stranger was agitating and all the bodies around him too much. Still the man rocked him very carefully, slowly, and Ignis’ fit passed gradually, his cries tapering off to become whines, his head still turned away. He kept his eyes covered.

“Don’t be afraid,” the man said and Ignis knew it was easier said than done.

Cool hands graced his chin and tilted his head up a little. Ignis immediately pulled away protesting, the hands too much against his hot skin. The shock of temperature left him clammy but they didn’t force him. Before he had met the lady the other hands had not been so patient - they would only grab for him again no matter how he cried. Ignis covered his face and moaned again, low and pathetic.

At his side the man hummed. “It’s alright,” he said and Ignis wondered if it could be. “It’s okay.”

The headache pulsed. Tension made him curl up tight. Tears stained his cheeks and his face was flushed an ugly red. Before now he could cower in his blanket. It kept away the cold, when the night fell and the warm bodies and friendly faces left. Things were easier then, when Ignis could hide away and pretend he was always safe. 

But this man was patient. Rocking Ignis back and forth he murmured very softly. The words did not register for Ignis. Mindless and warm they simply assured him. There was an unfamiliar scent that remained pleasant, warm and unidentifiable. With time Ignis’ breaths slowed, heart finding peace at last and he only sniffled. “You’re alright,” he murmured and Ignis risked a glance upwards.

The man who held him smiled reassuringly. He was pleasantly soft and his voice was calm. “Hello,” he said.

Ignis sniffed hard. He scrubbed at his eyes until his were raw. Lashes heavy with tears, eyelids swollen, he still mewled. It would have been kinder to reply but his throat felt shredded. He recalled a man who may have been his father had always reminded him to be kind, especially when their neighbours cooed at him through the fence and slipped him sweets. They fussed over him always, coming out into the garden to pinch his cheeks when they heard him playing. They were lonely, his father said. He was the light of their day.

It was hard to understand. It was harder to remember now. 

Ignis looked away. He fisted his hands in his own jumper and could have heaved. His throat clenched hard and his stomach turned over from the grief. All that sugar across his tongue was no longer a delight. He feared the man might turn his head again, but thankfully he let him be. Ignis burrowed down into his clothes and hoped it might all go away soon.

Again the man hummed. The hands upon his back were just right - while they settled him they were not insistent, not rubbing hard enough to hurt. “What’s he doing here?”

There was a great heaving sigh. “The guards had taken him in. According to one of them he has no family to speak of.”

For a moment no one spoke. Ignis liked the quiet best and fussed with a loose thread. “They took him in?”

“They had him in the mess hall, your Majesty,” the woman explained, and the man huffed out a laugh of disbelief. “They were intending to turn him over, or so they said. Cor took him out and I’m waiting on the contact from the agency to come and pick him up. And an official report from all the guards.”

“I see,” he replied. Shifting, he let Ignis remain safely in his arms. They cradled him well and Ignis’ sickness slowly began to subside. Still he groaned very softly and then writhed when hands gently graced his temple. It hurt, but not as much as it had. “What happened to him?”

“Not sure,” she said and still kept her distance. A hand played with the pendant around her throat. “I’ll gather the reports together, but I imagine he got the wound while… fleeing.”

The man bowed his head. It was the friendly sort, youthful and honest. His hair was the darkest Ignis had ever seen it, black like the dead of night. Leather gloves didn’t feel pleasant against his skin but he stopped prodding the instant Ignis complained. A bitterness ghosted across his face, handsome with its fine features but darkened for too long.

“A regrettable story,” the other man said, “But one we’ll continue to hear.”

“It doesn’t make it any less regrettable,” the dark-haired man replied, clipped with annoyance, and the other man simply grunted.

Ignis took his moment to look across the room. Every eye was on him – the woman watched cautiously, and the man stood beside her with his arms crossed against his chest. His hair was cropped very short, close to his skull, and his broad face was considerably less warm. Ignis shrank back immediately and the chest he borrowed against quaked with laughter.

“I think you scared him, Cor,” the man said, and Cor grunted again and glanced away. His brows sinking made his expression all the more fearsome and Ignis reached to grab fistfuls of the man’s jacket. It was soft like velvet in his hands.

“It’s alright,” he said again and adjusted Ignis in his arms. Soon Ignis was reclined and with his feet back on the floor though he refused to let go of the jacket. He crushed it in his palms and refused to look at Cor. “What’s your name, sweet?”

Ignis looked up at him. He wore a smile that was almost encouraging, lighting up the room. But Ignis looked away again and sniffled.

“Ignis,” the woman spoke again. “Not his birth name, but we have no way of knowing it.”

“Hello, Ignis,” the man said. “I’m Reggie.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at him. It emerged as a giggle at first and a dawning smile. But Reggie laughed too, encouraging him. For the moment it didn’t feel wrong to laugh in a man’s face.

“That’s Cor,” Reggie nodded towards the man who determinedly kept his eyes on the ground and waved towards the woman who had given him the sweet. “And that’s Monica right there.”

Monica’s smile was awkward. Cor’s was non-existent. Reggie turned away from them quickly. “How old are you, Ignis?”

It took a moment to think about it. When he had his last cake there were six candles. “Six,” he said with confidence he wasn’t too sure he had earned.

“Wow. My son is just a bit younger than you,” Reggie seemed brighter at the mention of his boy. “Do you want to see a picture?”

“No,” Ignis said and Cor coughed strangely.

Even Reggie’s voice seemed strangled and there were crinkled lines around his eyes. “Fair,” he laughed and had to clear his throat hard. “Do you like other children, Ignis? Did you come here with any?”

The strangers had fallen away from him. Ignis remembered sweet perfume that turned into the stench of sweat, the wild waters of the river that washed it away. His hands had tangled in thick masses of blonde hair and they had attempted to soothe him, to draw him close and hush his tears. But they had been running, tumbling, scared out of their wits and Ignis was passed from father to mother, sibling to sibling, and he hadn’t seen them again.

“No,” Ignis said in response, but the ache of his heart joined the ache of his head. It was difficult to think of even the recent past – he was tired, pushed to his limits, and sick of all the strangers.

Ignis squirmed, beginning to fuss again at the thought, and Reggie seized his last chance to distract him. “Do you want to come and get something to eat with me, Ignis?”

The thought of food distracted his pain before it had the chance to begin. Eager for a full stomach, no more snacks here and there, Ignis nodded. “Please,” he remembered at the last possible moment.

Hands pet lightly at his cheek. “You’re terribly sweet,” Reggie said and Ignis couldn’t help his flush of pride. With a moment’s reorganisation Ignis was back on his feet and Reggie was looming over him again, though quickly stripped one glove and wound their hands together once more. The warmth was pleasant and Ignis stood closer. “I’d like to return to the Citadel,” Reggie said and both of his companions stood up straighter.

“With the child?” Monica asked and there was an edge of incredulity across her brows.

Reggie nodded and began to lead Ignis away, crossing the room and holding the door open for him. Somehow Ignis found himself missing all the noise of the tents. Here there wasn’t a bit of noise, no voices and no footsteps. Mostly the sound of engines and murmuring as people passed the tents in the dead of night had soothed him to sleep. “I want a room prepared for him too. Please call ahead.”

Ignis couldn’t see Cor and Monica exchange a look. Shock and surprise mixed to become determination and grit and Cor followed them out even as Monica looked uncertain with her phone in her hands. Reggie let the door click shut behind them. “Do you want me to carry you, Ignis?”

There was nothing more in the world that Ignis loved more than being carried. He nodded eagerly and lifted his hands, dancing silently from foot to foot and strong arms wrapped underneath his rump. They hoisted Ignis up and over his shoulder and Ignis came face to face with Cor.

There was clear exhaustion. Faint bags had swollen the bottom of his eyes and they were a winter grey, the miserable sky above. He had missed a spot while shaving and a long scar flicked across his throat. Ignis averted his eyes quickly and buried his face in Reggie’s shoulder.

“Regis,” Cor began. “You can’t just pluck a child from-”

“Be very careful what you say, Cor,” Reggie – _Regis,_ Ignis thought - interrupted without even looking back, beginning his journey along the empty hall. Closed doors were on every side and the walls were white, covered with posters. They passed them too quickly for Ignis to take a peek. They all looked very official and boring. “It’s easy to talk like that, if you don’t think about your own little boy at home.”

A hiss of air escaped Cor’s nostrils when he sighed. His shoulders slumped, defeated with only a few words. “That’s quite different, and you know it. The media will be all over this. _King adopts refugee, ignores Insomnia orphans_. You know how they’ll spin it, and you can’t do it.”

“Let them talk,” Regis said firmly. The heavy doors of the exit were shouldered open, a hand protecting Ignis’ head. It took them out to a stairwell with the outer wall made almost entirely of glass. Their voices echoed and the place was full of sunlight – Ignis attempted to look out open the outside world but Cor shouldered past as if shielding Regis’ body from sight. “Where else is he to go? Into the system, amongst countless others?”

“Do you really think you can save them all?”

“Maybe just this one,” Regis said confidently, “but it’s better than none.”

Cor even growled. It was low, right in the bottom of his throat but he followed him nonetheless, down four flights of stairs to the ground floor. Regis’ carefully rest a hand across Ignis’ back and one underneath his rump, making sure the jaunt down the stairs didn’t make him uncomfortable.

“Your Majesty,” Cor continued as they went through another heavy door through to a waiting room. It was better looking than the slightly run-down looking halls upstairs and a woman sat at a desk, tapping away at her computer. She looked up as they passed, balking at the sight of Regis’ and then confused at the sight of Ignis – but she waved her hand at him, and Ignis waved back shyly as they made their way outside. “I have to make you realise; you cannot adopt this child. The city will go wild. There’s a parent out for him somewhere.”

“He will be the ward of the Citadel, even if only for a few weeks,” Regis said firmly, casting a hard look towards Cor. “And I will hear no argument.”

It killed Cor’s steam. But still he grumbled, low enough for Ignis to not hear, and said, “This is a bad idea.”

“While I never want to make an enemy of you, Cor, or pass judgement – wouldn’t one say it’s roughly the same of having brought little Prompto home?” Regis asked, and Cor was silent the rest of the journey.

There was a car parked across the road, hidden underneath a great concrete roof. Ignis had never seen the like before. Everything was bigger, brighter. From somewhere beyond he could hear loud music and car engines but could see no people. Above and beyond there were high up buildings, dozens of windows in each. He took in everything he could from the streetlights, the signs that were too complex for him to fully understand, the building they have left – boring and nondescript, on a quiet road.

But there were dozens of cars alongside theirs, none as nice as they one they slid into. It gleamed and barely made a noise unlike the trucks Ignis had been bundled inside once or twice, cowering against strangers. Cor took the driver’s seat while Regis helped Ignis into the back.

“It won’t be long,” he was promised as Regis slipped in next to him. But Ignis was distracted by a stuffed kitten toy left on the floor. It was beige and covered in stripes. He ducked down for it before Regis could strap him in and it was impossibly soft to the touch.

“My son,” Regis explained with a fond smile. He clicked Ignis’ belt closed. “Such a messy boy.”

Ignis squished the toy close. The whiskers were silken and didn’t even poke against his cheeks. He shifted against the seatbelt, a little too small for it. Before he had been carried on laps and Cor glanced at him in the rear-view mirror as if he was going to speak – but seemed to think better of it.

Cor simply drove. The car remained quiet, Regis speaking now and again, informing him of the cat’s name -- Maya -- and explaining whatever Ignis spotted and simply had to know about outside.

It changed quickly. Quiet streets broadened out and more and more life appeared until they were in a city’s tangled roads. There were buildings taller than any Ignis had ever seen, new cars and dozens of domestic dogs on leashes. New faces and fantastical sights all blurred into one, and children his age wore colourful clothes and ate ice cream. One walked a puppy, stopping to let them sniff everything and then try to bite their mother’s wagging tail.

Quiet roads turned into business strips and Ignis hadn’t seen so much colour and life before. Adverts larger than a car were so high up it hurt Ignis’ neck to look. They advertised clothing, drinks, anything. Ignis could take it all in with the heavy traffic, caught at red lights for minutes at a time and Regis was patient. He didn’t mind that Ignis squeezed Maya tight and got his dusty shoes all over the leather upholstery.

“This is Insomnia,” he said when Ignis began to wriggle at the sight of water, an intricate and carefully sculpted fountain standing over the bustling people. “Have you heard of it? It’s the capital city of Lucis.”

Ignis hadn’t. His home was small – that he remembered. There was nothing but peaceful waters in his memory and gentle hands, warm voices. It all seemed so terribly far away, and every hazy face seemed to darken rather than clear.

He said as much to Regis, in simpler terms – _I don’t remember_ \- who frowned.

“Where did you live before, Ignis? Do you remember?”

“No,” he said and in the front seat Cor frowned deeply.

x

They were in the car long enough for Ignis to feel the gnawing hunger and begin to fuss. Not even the view outside the window could distract him for much longer. A rumbling ache overtook him and he began to squirm, looking up to Regis for kindness, and Regis drew him closer.

“We won’t be much longer,” he said, _promise_ , and Ignis couldn’t help but believe him.

They slid into even busier traffic. They had been driving forever, Ignis thought and his rear was beginning to feel numb, his legs antsy. Ignis could barely see through the lanes of traffic and he could see more and more guards, one on every street corner and stepping in and out of cafes, serious and stern. Regis directed questions that Ignis didn’t understand to Cor, who murmured complex responses and focused on his driving, on navigating a crossroads, and finally they drew up to a gate.

People just like how Ignis had seen before scurried around the car. They wore dark clothes and stern expressions. Upon seeing the car they all stood bolt upright and several place their palm over their heart, sinking into a bow as they drifted past. One came directly up to the window and Cor rolled it down, grunting when he was asked for his ID.

Cor presented it. The man took it and peered at it and then at Cor. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the Wall?”

“Aren’t you supposed to let us in, or do you enjoy wasting your Majesty’s time,” he shot back, and the man disappeared quickly. Cor set his ID back into his wallet and drove one handed as the gates creaked apart, raised voices sounding all around them. None could see through the blacked out windows and Ignis felt no fear to press his hands against the glass, peering at each of their faces.

They crept by and swung around into a circle, beginning to slow before a set of grand stairs. Ignis took everything in, awed – the sheer size of the building that cocooned them, the hundreds of windows and dozens of arches and how it made even Regis seem so very small. He absorbed it all and couldn’t wait any longer, unclipping his belt and trying the door.

It wouldn’t budge. Cor snapped his head back and sharply said, “Ignis!”

Ignis drew his hand away like the handle was scalding hot. He dropped back in his seat and shrunk, scared witless but Regis hushed him softly. “It’s okay,” he murmured, but readjusted Ignis’ seat belt. “Stay down for a few minutes, alright? We’re nearly there.”

Ignis hung his head. Regis looked towards Cor. “I seem to recall several of your nephews and your son doing the very same, once or twice,” he said and Cor scowled.

After another minute they slowed to a stop. Ignis didn’t move but Regis undid his clasp again and offered him a smile, laughing a little when he heard Ignis’ belly rumble. “We can go now,” he said and undid his own belt. Cor was already getting out of the car. “Are you ready? I can carry you up the stairs.”

“Please,” Ignis said in a very small voice, afraid to speak too loudly.

Cor opened his door for him and said nothing until Regis had Ignis in his arms again. “Sorry,” he grunted without looking entirely at Ignis and Regis nodded at him but said no more.

The stairs went on forever. Another man came down the stairs to greet them halfway, looking twice at Ignis and clearly startled. Cor tossed him the keys and he left, taking double and triple looks at the child even as they passed who was more interested in how high they were going, how smaller the car seemed to be.

Finally they reached the top and Regis set Ignis down on the floor with a smile. “Let’s go get you something to eat,” he said.

Much of the journey to the kitchens was a blur. Not many people passed but all stared, and Ignis simply followed his nose. There was a delicious aroma on the air and he had to find the source. He tried to toddle ahead and Cor quickened his pace to stay at the top, clearly unhappy but Ignis made no attempt to duck into open doors. They came to stairs and Cor bustled him along to continue following the hall and Regis laughed behind them, lengthening his strides.

With time they came to the end of the hall and Cor moved fastest. He disappeared into a room with a bright glow and Ignis heard his raised voice, varied confused responses. There was clattering and the scent was strongest here. But Ignis dithered at the door until Regis offered his hand, free of leather and covered in tiny little nicks, fine scars. Ignis accepted it eagerly and let himself be drawn inside to where it was warm, the atmosphere different the moment they stepped inside.

It changed too for the room’s occupants once they saw Regis. One young woman recoiled while an older woman drew up high, plate in her hands. Both wore stained aprons and had their hair tied back tight.

“Your Majesty,” the younger woman yelped and Regis lifted a hand in placation, a wry and awkward smile struggling to make himself look less frightful.

“Apologies for interrupting your hard work,” he said, and everyone in the room stared at him. An oven glowed and something sizzled in a pan. There was a bowl of bright fruit on the side and Ignis wanted it. “I hope Monica called ahead regarding a meal for a guest.”

All eyes dropped down to Ignis. The older woman looked bewildered but nodded and wiped her hands nervously on her apron.

“Yes, we got word,” she said, and rolled her shoulders. She nodded at the oven. “Just a few minutes now. Would he like a drink…?”

Regis squeezed Ignis’ hand gently but all the eyes had made him freeze up. After a beat with no response, Regis flashed them a bright smile to distract. “I’m sure whatever you have on hand will do. Thank you for your efforts.”

“There’s a spot he can sit in next door,” she said, and Regis walked him over, fingers still twined together.

There was a small table in the centre of the room and several low stools. It wasn’t much more than that. Dismal looking art hung on the walls and there wasn’t a soul in sight. They sat together there, Ignis remaining uncertain but Regis appeared at peace, a small smile on his face.

“Won’t be long,” he said sunnily when Ignis’ belly growled.

It was less than a few minutes later that a plate was presented to him. A tall glass of juice was paired with chunks of breaded fish and a pile of chips, still steaming, and Ignis fell into his plate.

He left Maya forgotten on the table and paid little attention to the cutlery. Regis didn’t say a word. He looked towards Maya, beaded eyes glazed.

“You can keep her a while,” Regis said with a knowing smile. “You can pass her over to my son personally, if you like. Then you can pick out a toy or two for yourself.”

Ignis’ mouth was full of breadcrumbs. “Okay,” he said through them, making a terrible mess and then downing half of his drink in a few gulps. Crumbs dirtied the table. Regis simply took a napkin and swept it up.

It tasted better than anything Ignis had eaten in weeks. It was a hot meal, finally. Cold pasta and barely cooked rice hadn’t been enough. He shoved the chips into his mouth and even when his belly was full he ate the remains until he felt sick, like any movement would make him vomit. He held his stomach and moaned softly, unable to move.

“Good boy,” Regis said. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No. T’ank you,” he groaned and longed for a moment of rest. A soft bed would do him the world of good – he felt heavy, tired beyond his years all of a sudden. “’m sleepy.”

“I’ve asked for a room to be made up for you,” Regis explained. “There’ll be clothes and more food if you need it – do you want to have a rest now?”

Ignis nodded and Regis tidied up the mess made, sweeping crumbs and rouge chips onto his plate. Barely a trace of food remained. He tucked the cutlery and the used napkins up, making a small thing of cleaning up around Ignis’ messy mouth and tried to encourage him to drink the rest of his juice. Ignis shied away and Regis didn’t press the matter.

On the way out Ignis was bundled in Regis’ arms again. Cor was nowhere to be seen and the door to the kitchens was closed firmly. Only the glow of light underneath the door remained.

Regis did his best not to jostle Ignis’ belly as they walked. He was careful and walked in long strides and Ignis drifted off on his shoulder. With his head angled over Regis’ shoulder he watched the black tiles drift past and the walk seemed so short – he barely stirred as Regis pushed open a door, murmuring softly to a woman’s low voice, and Ignis felt the world turn as he was laid out onto something soft.

He opened his eyes. He was in a bedroom, laid flat on a mattress and Regis worked to remove his shoes and peeled down his socks. Ignis squirmed, kicking softly and listened to the laughter it brought.

“Just a moment,” he said and his feet were suddenly cold. Ignis protested until a sheet was draped over him, heavy and warm and he couldn’t help but close his eyes. Every limb was heavy and he was finally content again, fed and safe, the pain in his head barely a hindrance.

“Comfortable?” the woman’s voice asked, and Ignis could barely purr.

More laughter from two, and a hand smoothed through Ignis’ hair.

“Sleep well, little one,” Regis murmured, and Ignis was gone in a matter of heartbeats.


End file.
